It was a usual heated day in Ironforge. Barzik continued to nail posters on the walls all around the city as Beln assisted him by carrying the posters.

Barzik finished nailing the poster on the wall and looked at Beln. "You sent some posters ta Rhemis 'n Vystrum, right?"

Beln nodded. "Aye boyo. They're placin' these up like we are."

Barzik nodded back and the two continued on through Ironforge, nailing more posters on the walls.

WANTED: The Vorisswa

The great city of Ironforge has placed bounties on the notorious organization known as the Vorisswa. While known as a myth, the Mountainguard, Stormwind Guard, and Sentinel's League fully acknowledge the existence of this organization. The Vorisswa are known to be merciless, able to slay their targets without hesitation and without proof of deed. Those hunting the Vorisswa are to exact caution when dealing with any Vorisswa member. A simple mistake may be your last.

The insignia pictured above is on every Vorisswa member. If you see this insignia on any person please locate the nearest guard or officer in your region. If you believe you are able to handle a member of the Vorisswa and manage to kill him/her please display your proof of deed by carving the insignia off of his/her body and showing it to an officer in your region.

For any more information, please contact Mountainguard Commander Barzik Riflemot or Mountaineer Commander Beln Brogglesmecker in Ironforge -OR- Officers Rhemis and Vystrum Tamias in Stormwind. Those in Darnassus are expected to travel to Stormwind or Ironforge by any means necessary.

Barzik stopped in his tracks for a minute. "Hm... how're gonna get this info ta the Horde? Gotta get'em all, y'know."

Beln shrugged. "Krassik's workin' on that. I think he nailed some posters around Booty Bay 'n some of the other goblin places."

Barzik gave him a funny look. "Whaddya mean by that?" he said incredulously. "Wasn't he in hiding? Sounds like he wants ta toy with death again!"

Krassik took a long look at the poster, feeling anger and bitterness swell up in his body. Alas, he knew what he came here to do, and work he shall.

All around Booty Bay the same poster was nailed up here and there. Information about the Vorisswa would soon be public, and those who knew more about them than others would finally be acted upon.

"I wonder how long they'll take to find out they suck at killing people," Krassik said. The first attempt was almost a failure were it not for his will and spirit, but this was the second time. The second time's the charm for the Vorisswa, and Krassik knew that. But it was a while ago, maybe a month, and he was more than ready for them at this point.

As he walked down the pier to the ship heading to Ratchet with a hammer in hand and posters in the other, a Troll ran to catch up to him.

"You've a lot to accomplish, I see!"

Krassik turned around, a bit ready for battle, but when he caught glimpse of the stranger he settled down.

Khuldrak smiled. "I see you have happy feet eh? You will see battle soon enough!"

"I'd rather have it later," Krassik admitted.

Khuldrak nodded in agreement. "Alas, they will surely come after us. We are the keepers of their secrets after all, are we not?"

Krassik continued down the pier to the ship heading to Ratchet. Khuldrak walked alongside him.

"So you have embraced the surname of your beloved?" Khuldrak asked.

Krassik nodded. He shrugged in his armor, feeling a bit uncomfortable talking about his surname. "Do we have to talk about this? Leave it alone."

"Still wounded?" Khuldrak questioned. He knew it would bother Krassik more, but it was a sincere question.

"Yes." Krassik replied, irritation in his voice.

Khuldrak nodded. "You will see her before you die, do not worry."

Krassik handed Khuldrak some posters, but Khuldrak refused with a wave of a hand. Krassik grunted, then held out the papers once more for emphasis. Khuldrak chuckled, admitting defeat, and took a hold of the stack of posters Krassik nudged him. The two boarded the ship en route to Ratchet and settled themselves in the deck's hold.

The day struck a fair blow to the Vorisswa. Ironforge and Darnassus were notified of their deeds and what was once a child’s fairytale became reality. However, several others who knew of the Vorisswa became terrified once the information was leaked to the public. The organization would now be in full locomotion because of it, and those who were put off as nothing would resurface to become full candidates of murder. It was a sure fact that anyone who knew they were a target would die eventually.

Night came fairly quickly. Stormwind had yet to be notified due to “problems” with the officers. While the peace and quiet that swept through the city was enjoyable, it would only last for a minute duration. There was evil afoot, and many of the Stormwind Guard realized that.

While the waters of the Canals were filthy, the resonating sound from the waters clashing on the cobblestone cliffs of the pathways gave a bit of comfort to Rhemis. His armor clanked and his weapons glistened as he slowly made his round through Stormwind, placing posters of the Vorisswa up on the walls of the city. Each poster he nailed up urged him to take a sharp glance above him. Like many of the officers, he was a liable candidate for murder, and he did not want to die from being crushed to death like Chris Waybell years ago.

The sound of footsteps caught his ear. He scanned behind him, touching the wall to balance him-self and recognize the area under the darkness. The kerosene lamps could only do so much to help him see. A dark figure began to leisurely proceed towards him. It stopped a few feet away from Rhemis, then snapped its fingers, causing them to burst into flames silently. It was Vystrum.

Rhemis continued walking and Vystrum followed close behind him with a fireball to light their way through the paths. Even with Vystrum, Rhemis did not feel too comfortable walking around in almost pure darkness.

“It feels like Darkshire,” he muttered. He took another poster and began nailing it to the stone wall with his plated gauntlet. Vystrum began to scratch his beard with his free hand, pondering as usual.

“I say brother! It’s very cold. Shouldn’t we go to the Blue Recluse? I’m sure their fire is ready and warm.”

Rhemis rolled his eye, then proceeded down the Canals with Vystrum. “If you didn’t slack off so much then we would have been able to finish this already.”

Vystrum gave another confused look to Rhemis. “Slacking off? I would never!”

Rhemis rolled his eye again. “Right. You get lost. That’s all you’re ever able to do.” He pinned another poster on the wall and continued on. Vystrum stood still, pondering on his words for a minute, but then thought it would be best to forget about it and instead continued following him.

A few minutes of silence. Vystrum looked around inquisitively as Rhemis continued nailing posters on the walls. With a thought in mind, Vystrum finally broke the silence once more.

“Brother, do you think the Vorisswa would come after us?”

No answer.

“I mean, we do know about their organization. I’m positive they know we know!”

More silence. Clink, clank, clink, clank.

“Brother, perhaps they were defeated? It’s possible, don’t you think?”

Thwack, thwack, thwack. Shuffle shuffle, clink, clank, clink, clank.

Vystrum frowned. “Brother?”

“What, Vystrum?” Rhemis finally replied.

“Do you believe Berlshenk is alive? I mean, while they found his belongings, it does not mean he is dead. They still haven’t found his body yet.”

“Vystrum.”

“Yes, brother?”

“You’re an idiot.”

Vystrum frowned at him, confused as usual. However, he thought nothing of it and the two continued moving forward with their agenda at hand.

The two were between the Park and the Cathedral before Rhemis suddenly stopped moving. Vystrum blinked, and once he opened his eyes he noticed that Rhemis’ right eye glowed an angry red. He quickly dropped his stack of posters and unsheathed his weapons; a dagger in the left and a broadsword in the right. Vystrum wasted no time as well and converted his glowing orb of fire into a purple swirl of arcane. His left hand did the same and the area surrounding the two glowed much brighter.

Only the swishing waters of the Canals were heard. Here and there the docks creaked, but were swallowed once more by the silence. Rhemis and Vystrum stood back to back, watching the side of the bridge to the Cathedral and the pathway from the other side of the bridge. It was a bad area to be, for they could be surrounded. They took their chances, and they were ready for anything.

The little light the moon gave played tricks on their eyes. From time to time, they believed they saw things up above on the walls moving, shadowy figures ready to pounce on them on a moment’s notice. They gave in to this suspicion and felt assured that it was not the moon playing coy with them. It was the Vorisswa’s henchmen, ready to draw blood.

The two defenders braced themselves further. Throughout their time they had escaped numerous attacks and ambushes from the Vorisswa. Of course, this information did not please them, and each victory for the two officers made the Vorisswa twitch with a vengeful mind. Knowing that the Vorisswa could strike at any time of the day caused Rhemis and Vystrum to be on the lookout every day, anticipating an attack. Their vigilance was surely to pay off now.

Spotted! A dark figure with glowing, red eyes lunged down below towards the two defenders. Sparks of metal flew about as the assailant’s straightedge katana connected with Rhemis’ broadsword. Just as he was gaining strength to thrust his dagger, the attacker recoiled on Rhemis’ parry and flew back a few inches, landing on his feet.

Rhemis scoffed. “Don’t tell me they only sent one person to assassinate us. How pathetic!”

An answer basically propelled itself in more dark figures the same as the first attacker. The two officers scattered about, Rhemis dodging and parrying attacks with both his weapons while Vystrum allowed his magical abilities do all the work and let the attackers bounce off his arcane shield.

Despite his idiocy, Vystrum is not one to be thought of as inexperienced in combat. While most of his magic mainly consists of arcane, he is a fully-fledged mage and is able to use what other mages can and more.

The attackers had not noticed it, but Vystrum’s arcane shield gave more momentum than they wanted. Caught off-guard, the attackers did not land on their feet, but rather hit the wall in full force, causing grunts to echo throughout the Canals and the thudding of bodies with their weapons.

Vystrum chuckled. “I’m not that careless! What is a mage without his defensive magics?”

The attackers recuperated, snatching their weapons from the ground. They made a mistake already; it was assured they would not make another one. All bodies braced themselves, ready and in battle stances of their own kind.

Even under the darkness, Rhemis was actually able to see the field of battle in plain view. His eternium-plated eye actually had more features other than being an irritating nightlight. Under the vise of darkness, it acted like night vision. Under any vise, it acted like a scanner that only he could comprehend.

He looked at his enemies. His side was surrounded by possibly eight or so Vorisswa henchmen. Vystrum’s had around ten or so, making the sides unbalanced. Even through the primary assault, the two officers were able to keep their positions intact; Rhemis still covered the cathedral side of the bridge while Vystrum covered the other side.

Rhemis nudged Vystrum with his elbow. “They’re Wrathblades,” he said. “Watch their hands. I hope you haven’t gotten ruddy in hand to hand combat after all these years.”

Vystrum smiled. A small chuckle vibrated in his mouth. In a hushed voiced, he displayed his surprise. “How awful brother! You know I’m a magic man. My weapons are attached.”

Wrathblades: They were only second in the ranks of the Vorisswa, but then again their beginning ranks were deadly to being with. They were adorned with grayed leather that was reinforced with metallic rings all over their equipment. A mask that fully covered their faces and almost looked as if it made their eyes glow red gave their victims a feel of fear and despair, looking as if wrath itself had descended to slay them.

They were quick; wielding straightedge katanas, Wrathblades were able to focus their energy using a light sword rather than a two-handed sword that required their full attention with both hands. Wrathblades could use their katanas with either one or two hands, the latter allowing them to strike swiftly and quickly before their victim can act.

However, Rhemis and Vystrum were an exception. While Wrathblades were much more experienced than the beginning ranks of the Vorisswa, they still could not outmatch the experience of the two officers and have failed assassination attempts against them before.

Something was amiss, though, and Rhemis felt it. A few minutes had passed and the Wrathblades had not made a move. Rhemis narrowed his natural eye while his right eye dimmed.

“They’re stalling for time!” Rhemis said with irritation. “We need to work quickly Vystrum. There’s more bound to our location!”

The Canal’s waters did not comfort Rhemis anymore. There were already around a dozen or so enemies to fight; any more would surely overwhelm them. There were barely any guards out in this time of night and locating any would surely capture more time for the Wrathblades.

The Wrathblades were probably smiling. They probably knew Rhemis discovered their plot, but even so they still had bought enough time to contain the two officers until their reinforcements arrived. As the saying goes, it would only be a matter of time.

Rhemis nudged Vystrum’s arm once more. Without any hesitation, the two began their two-manned blitzkrieg against the Wrathblades. For some reason, the two were yelling as loud as they could. Each time Rhemis’ weapons were parried he yelled even louder. An unfortunate Wrathblade was caught off-guard and Rhemis sliced his right arm clean off. The Wrathblade could only cry out in pain for a second before his vocal cords were severed by Rhemis’ dagger.

Vystrum charged towards the Wrathblades on his side of the bridge. However, before a Wrathblade could connect his katana with Vystrum, he suddenly propelled high up into the sky using the force of an arcane blast, causing his flight to stream with shades of purple. The Wrathblades watched him as Vystrum landed on the wall of the Canals. Vystrum pointed to one of the Wrathblades, then shouted out for all to hear.

“Bang!”

The tip of Vystrum’s finger ignited in arcane. A loud, whining noise soon followed and a stream of the magic impacted with the Wrathblade he was pointing at. Before the Wrathblade knew it, he had lost a chunk of his left shoulder and was bleeding profusely.

The victim writhed on the ground, yelling and screaming as he felt the blood in him quickly travel out on to the cobblestone pathway. As the other Wrathblades began climbing up towards Vystrum, one stayed behind and, like an act of mercy, quickly slid his weapon down into the pained Wrathblade’s heart. He gasped in slight surprise, but it quickly went onto a comforted one. The now silenced Wrathblade held still in his blood, thankful to be dead and off of the pain. The other Wrathblade ascended the wall like the others did, ready to avenge his comrade.

Meanwhile, Rhemis was busy covering his side of the bridge. One Wrathblade had attempted to sidestep behind him, but failed miserably as Rhemis’ sword caught him by the stomach, slicing it open. Rhemis also silenced his ability to cry out in pain and then shoved him into the filthy Canals with a boot to the chest.

“You do well to stay vigilant,” Rhemis said in a mocking manner. “You’ll find out why the Canals are always dirty if you don’t.”

Enraged, the Wrathblades began to frontally attack Rhemis. He parried the first attack, dodged the other, then kicked another back to fall upon another of his comrades. Unfortunately, there were too many to occupy and Rhemis found another attacker too late. The discovered Wrathblade wielded his katana with two hands and thrusted towards the side of Rhemis’ stomach. While it did not pierce through his plated armor, he still felt a singe of pain. Rhemis sent a kick towards the attacker and winded him extremely, causing him to fall to the floor and pass out.

Rhemis let his guard go, allowing the Wrathblades in front of him to regain the ability to attack. Before they could act, Rhemis twirled around vigorously and sent his broadsword flying into several parts of the two Wrathblades’ bodies. They were cut too deep. They tried to move, but their bodies would not budge. Blood quickly trickled down their wounds as they fought control. It was all in vain; several key nerves and veins were ruptured that disallowed them to move anymore. The two Wrathblades could do nothing but grunt and gasp. Their weapons dropped from their hands and the two finally fell to the ground, dead.

Rhemis had unknowingly dropped his guard. Another Wrathblade thrusted his weapon towards Rhemis’ side once more, this time rupturing the plate armor. The tip of the katana had connected with Rhemis skin and he cried out in agony. In anger, he grabbed hold of the Wrathblade’s katana, then yanked him towards himself. Again and again Rhemis began to pummel the Wrathblade with his fist until the assailant went limp in his grasp. He looked around his area. There were only four more left to deal with. With a grunt, he threw the bruised and dead Wrathblade into the murky waters down below and sheathed his dagger.

“I’ll play your game,” Rhemis said with intimidation. He hunched in a bracing manner, holding his broadsword with two hands now. The red eyes of the Wrathblade narrowed and then they began charging at Rhemis.

“My, my, my!” Vystrum said with disappointment as his finger continued to shoot streams of arcane at the attackers. One Wrathblade reacted too slow and found himself bleeding at the side. He slumped, then fell off the wall and down onto the pathway with the cracking of bones and a thud.

Vystrum wiggled his hand. Overuse caused his finger to emanate a trail of smoke, and he knew at that point it was time to stop. He looked over who else was left. They all halted their advance but still had their weapons ready.

The Wrathblades then sheathed their weapons. Vystrum scratched his head, befuddled. He murmured something inaudible, but then wagged his finger with eyes wide open and mouth ready to speak.

The Wrathblades then held their palms out at Vystrum, feet in front of the other for bracing. Dark orbs began to swirl into view in the center of their hands and Vystrum suddenly found himself guarding against torrents of shadow magic.

Vystrum squatted down slightly, gaining ground for himself. The excess beams of shadow magic were deflected by his arcane shield and propelled back towards their users. The Wrathblades knew that using their magic against a mage would be deadly, but it was better than hurling themselves at a beacon of magic that could send hundreds to the Nether in pieces. Unfortunately, there were too many using their magic and several beams of it were sent towards one of the Wrathblades, hitting him right in the chest multiple times and passing through him. The victim fell to the ground without realizing what hit him.

Each beam of shadow magic that struck Vystrum’s shield wore him down. He needed to deflect the impact of the magic with his hands or else he would become weaker until his shield gave way. Vystrum thought fast, then smirked as he saw a beam coming towards him.

He held his hand out, ready to catch the beam. It connected with his hand, then slowly disappeared into it. The Wrathblades had never seen this happen before, but they anticipated anything. Vystrum quenched their curiosity as his other hand shot the beam of shadow magic out and towards one of the members. He dodged, and the beam shattered into the ground, flinging fragments of stone towards the other surrounding members.

The distraction gave too much time for Vystrum. Smiling with wit and victory, Vystrum spread his fingers out towards the Wrathblades and let loose.

Streams of arcane began pouring out from the tips of his fingers. More loud, whining noises emitted as each stream was sent out. There were too many shots being fired and the Wrathblades could not react quickly enough to dodge them. As the streams of arcane poured out the Wrathblades fell to the ground dead. All of them almost looked like bloodied Alterac Swiss after Vystrum was done with them. The mage settled down and turned to see how Rhemis was doing.

Rhemis yanked his sword from the remaining Wrathblade’s body and let him fall into the Canals. He looked up, noticing Vystrum, then gestured for him to come down. Vystrum hopped off the wall and floated down right beside Rhemis.

He looked around, suspicious and uncomforted. Where were the reinforcements? It was odd for the Vorisswa to not assist their brethren. Perhaps he was wrong in thinking the Wrathblades were buying time…

“Is there anyone else around?” Rhemis asked Vystrum. He looked at him and shook his head.

“No… why is that, brother?”

Rhemis facepalmed, sighing with irritation. Regardless, Vystrum did not sense any other people with magic in the area, so Rhemis believed it to be safe… for now.

“Nothing,” Rhemis said, “Let’s go call the Guard up. They’ll be thrilled to clean up the mess we made.”

Beneath Rhemis, one of the Vorisswa groaned in pain. He had forgotten he winded a Wrathblade into passing out, but it was no matter. Rhemis simply lifted his foot and crushed the remaining member’s skull.

Vystrum frowned. “Why did you do that?” he asked.

Rhemis looked to him, with his usual passive-aggressive face. “He would have killed himself anyways. I’ll simply help him.”

He gathered his posters, then proceeded down the bridge. Vystrum lit the way with an ember in hand and followed him closely.

Early in the afternoon, Rhemis came to the Cathedral District to check up on Catherine, his daughter of eighteen years. He was limping when he entered the orphanage, forgetting that he was wounded during the Vorisswa’s incursion into Stormwind late last night. Noticing this, Catherine believed it was her priestly and daughterly duty to help her father and tend to the wound.

Catherine is a simple woman. Her face is absent of any marks or scars and is smooth as silk. Her blonde hair is tied into a ponytail so it does not block her view and cover her ears. Coming from her mother’s side, she has light blue eyes and a somewhat noticeable tan. The only thing she wears is a white robe, but the peculiar thing is that there is a ragged faded brown teddy bear strapped underneath her belt that contrasts with her graceful-like appearance.

Never one to speak, Catherine is quiet. Usually shy near strangers, she tends to bow her head down whenever anyone is looking at her. Her height is not that extraordinary, only being 5 foot or so, and the many people she has met have greatly overshadowed her. Her figure is lithe and is usually eyed by the many young men of Stormwind. However, being the offspring of such a prominent and feared officer of the city causes those men to rethink their decision.

Near the fountain of the Cathedral, Rhemis was seated on the edge of a stone bench as Catherine bandaged his side. His plated chestpiece was on the ground beside him and Rhemis looked to it longingly from time to time.

He was hunched over, right forearm resting on his leg and his left hand resting on his knee. Catherine was seated beside him and continued to bandage his waist. She noticed him eyeing his armor, but said nothing. She was almost done bandaging him and soon he would be able to get back to work.

“How’re the children?” Rhemis asked. “They aren’t giving you a rough time, are they?”

Catherine shook her head even though Rhemis had his back to her. “They’re doing fine,” she said in a quiet, sheepish tone.

“Good,” Rhemis said as he nodded. “Good. Have you seen your uncle anywhere? I really don’t want to go fetch him again like last time.”

She shook her head again. “I think he’s wandering about in Ironforge. He might still be thinking Berlshenk’s alive and wants to talk to him.”

Rhemis shook his head. Idiot, he thought. While he believed the Dwarf was still alive somewhere out there he did not bother to try and seek him out. Something like faking a death was bound to yield something secretive. If Berlshenk did not tell even his closest companions about why he did such a thing then it was best not to meddle in his affairs.

However, the thought still lingered in Rhemis’ mind. How important was Berlshenk’s agenda to fake his death? What was he hiding that was so private that even Rhemis or any of Berlshenk’s other comrades did not know? He really wished to find out, but doing so will undoubtedly jeopardize Berlshenk and whatever he is trying to do.

Catherine tried to heave the heavy chestpiece up, but was too weak to do so. Her soft grunting took Rhemis out of his dreaming state. He watched as she tried to lift the armor piece up in vain. He smiled, then stood up and lifted the object with just one hand. Catherine stepped back one foot and watched as he strapped the armor on. Good as new.

Rhemis looked to her and smiled. “I still say you should be a paladin.”

“Father,” she said in a playfully scolding tone, head cocked and smiling slightly. Rhemis chuckled. He could not resist to bring the subject up once more. But on a serious note, it was vital that she become stronger to defend herself. The Vorisswa would not make it easy on her and would treat her as a major threat like himself or Vystrum.

Rhemis’ expression turned serious after a few seconds. Catherine knew he was about to say something important. She frowned with a bit of sadness, then quickly bowed her head in shyness.

“The Vorisswa are active again,” he said. Catherine looked up, a shocked expression now on her face. Her skin tingled a bit and her jaw parted slightly. Rhemis looked around, hesitating to say anymore. He knew he had to tell her about them. “The scar you bandaged was from a recent fight. They ambushed me and your uncle late last night. One of them pierced a tiny hole through my armor. I beat him to death for doing that.” He grinned, recalling the event. The sound of his fist smashing the face of the Wrathblade echoed through his mind.

Catherine’s expression of shock turned into horror. She needed to keep a hand over her mouth just to suppress the feeling of gasping or screaming. “No…,” she said, trying to deny their existence. She did not want to hear this, let alone find out that her dear father was attacked recently by them.

Rhemis stepped near her and wrapped himself around her. She embraced, shivering with fear. Her memory recalled gruesome events of the first encounter with the Vorisswa; it was only a few months before Berlshenk killed their leader, but the event was so traumatic that even the utterance of their name made her spine tingle.

Some months ago, Catherine was heading to Loch Modan to help the injured Mountaineers after the warlock attacked the town with his demons. There, she met Berlshenk, who was extremely injured, but survived the fight with the warlock. Because of his injuries he did not wake up until a week later. Since she was finished tending to the other Mountaineers in the area, she decided to travel with Berlshenk, who was going to Ironforge to find information about his attacker.

Unfortunately, during the trip over, the Vorisswa caught wind of his survival and decided to go after him. The attack was unsuccessful and, oddly, executed in broad daylight. While he managed to survive with minor wounds, Catherine was beatened near the brink of death. Were it not for Berlshenk’s swiftness she would have died.

Regardless, the slicing of flesh and the sight of her blood permeated through her mind. So much she had endured during that trip and thinking about it caused her to shed tears. Had she actually become a paladin it could have been different. She could have came out of that attack with minor wounds like Berlshenk. But, like many other victims of murder, she was not anticipating on losing her life.

The attack caused her to go out of commission for several weeks and forced her to stay in Ironforge to heal. Meanwhile, Berlshenk pledged that her father would be notified personally as soon as he found any information in Ironforge. It took only a few days before Berlshenk left Ironforge to search for Rhemis and notify him.

The attack also made her feel insecure during that time. She would only get out of her bed to go the bathroom or eat, but those were it. The faintest sounds startled her and any interaction with anyone would frighten her and cause her to stammer in her responses.

When she finally recovered, she headed back to Stormwind and continued her work as a travelling priestess. It would only be a few more weeks until she caught word that the leader of the Vorisswa was killed. Her fear of them was also destroyed, and she felt much more at ease.

Her fears emerged once more, just like the resurfacing of the Vorisswa. Knowing that they were still alive meant that she would have to hide out, like a rat, in fear of death and brutal scarrings. She would have to endure the pain she felt at Loch Modan, all over again.

Her grip tightened over Rhemis. She began crying more and audibly. Her feet gave out and she finally lost control after a moment. Rhemis used his strength to hold her up. His expression of concern and comforting quickly turned into anger. His eternium eye was as bright as the sun.

Things would be different. Back then, Berlshenk was the one who knew something of the Vorisswa. Rhemis and Berlshenk’s other comrades only followed him. Now that Berlshenk was gone, someone had to step up and find information about the Vorisswa. All he knew were preoccupied and some others were too far off to call upon. He wondered if those several others were even aware of Berlshenk’s death and the resurrection of the Vorisswa. As far as he knew, he was the only one up for the job. He even had a strong motivation to keep him going until the life in him ran out.

He petted Catherine’s head, trying to comfort her. As she wept, she snuggled in a bit more in his arms. At least he was able to comfort her even though she was all out crying.

“Catherine,” he said, still petting her head, “Catherine, listen to me.” She looked up, tears swelling in her eyes and flowing down her cheeks. She tried hard to stop sniffling, but it still persisted.

“Be strong, Catherine.” Rhemis wiped her cheeks off of tears and looked at her longingly. “You have to be strong in this time of age. Don’t let fears twist your mind.”

She stopped sniffling and gained a bit of strength. Under the pressure of her tears and the images still swirling in her mind, she smiled. Upon seeing this, Rhemis smiled as well.

“Fear is a distraction,” he said, matter-of-factly. “If you let it overtake you, anything you do will be plagued by uncertainty.” She nodded, her sniffling slowing down. He went on speaking.

“Use your fear as a strength. If you don’t want people to share the pain you went through, then help rid of your fear so others won’t have to fear what you do. You don’t have to be a paladin, but I’ve always encouraged you because of the gifts you have.”

She rested her head on his chest again. Her sniffling died and Rhemis continued to stroke her head.

“You don’t have to be a stalwart protector of the Alliance,” Rhemis clarified, despite his allegiance. “But I wish for you to be strong so you can fend for yourself. You can take care of yourself, but when it comes to fighting you don’t have much experience; do you understand, Catherine?”

She said nothing. She knew in her heart that Rhemis would not be able to protect her forever. Her fear of the Vorisswa had almost swallowed her up were it not for her father’s kind words. She needed to be resolute; to be strong so she could not only defend herself, but show that she was able to stand up against her fears and horrors.

She moved Rhemis away, then looked up at him with purposeful and convinced eyes. Rhemis realized she had a goal and was set upon it.

“Father,” she said in a questioning voice. Her voice seemed to tremble a bit, but Rhemis felt that it was the tremble of eagerness rather than fear or timidity. “Who do I go to for paladin training?”

Rhemis felt like smiling, but the question she posed stopped him. Paladins are faithful soldiers of the Light, unwavering and resolute in their missions. The mission part was what concerned Rhemis.

A paladin’s mission is to cleanse the world of evil. Evil also meant any Horde. Rhemis recalled a certain event that took place long ago with an honorable paladin who assisted an Orc in the Eastern Plaguelands before it was overrun with Scourge. This tale placed a fear in Rhemis.

A thought echoed in his mind. Berlshenk led the voice. I’ve got Horde friends, too, it said. The Alliance’s ruddy, but maybe we can start with the next generation. A few years from now ‘n who knows? Maybe we’ll find all the races can go where ever they want without hostility of the factions.

Rhemis nodded absently, listening to the voice with open ears. Catherine frowned, wondering what he was doing.

“Father?” she said, trying to get his attention. Rhemis continued nodding, eyes stuck to the ground. Suddenly, Berlshenk began speaking again.

You know, I also have some pals who’re outcasts, he said. Aside from the Exile ‘n the goblin, there’s this one paladin I know who managed ta quit the Order with his powers. He went missin’ though… few months ago, I think. He was a good Dwarf…

Rhemis furrowed his brows. He went missing, he said in his mind. His plan began well, but it ran into a brick wall after that point. If his assumption was correct, the Vorisswa had ambushed and killed Berlshenk’s Dwarven friend.

However, another thought occurred. If that friend had survived, he would be difficult to track. Rhemis also realized most of Berlshenk’s friends were strong enough to fend for themselves, and even if they were overwhelmed and near the brink of death, there would be some sort of coincidental miracle that kept them alive. He knew this was true because through his adventures with Berlshenk he managed to come out of them alive, several of which he should have died.

The thought was pushed away, however. Coincidences are just happenings and nothing more. His main concern was finding a person of the Light that was willing to help train Catherine. From this point on there were only two leads: Follow along with Berlshenk’s words or seek out the honorable paladin who helped an Orc long ago.

The problem with the second choice was that the paladin may not have his powers still. If that was the case, trying to find him would be in vain and the time spent searching for him would be wasted. However, the first option was just as risky as the second one. If Berlshenk’s companion died after he went missing then the time searching for him would be wasted as well.

There were only two choices, both of which had the same risks in them. Danger was not much of a factor considering the Vorisswa, so the only problem was finding the people. Rhemis juggled the two choices.

“I know just the person,” he said convincingly. Catherine could not see a lie in his face and smiled at his words. She hugged him and he embraced her. The choice was sealed in Rhemis’ mind.

He knew it would be risky, but the question he had in his mind would not be as trouble causing since he knew who to ask. First thing to do was to ask questions and find answers. Rhemis took a look at the Cathedral and began walking towards it. Catherine followed right beside him, eager to know her tutor.